divider to prevent any flailing or flying and as everything stops and the dust settles, I decide I can breathe. I pay him (yes that extra fifty) and with a shake of my head enter the office building one minute past 9.00 a.m. And then I lose track of the day.
I am in three meetings, back to back. And each is super efficient and super productive. I have three new lesson plans to write, edit, and finalize before I travel to Banda at the end of the week.
I know it will keep me busy. I like busy. I like engaging my head and my hands in order to produce something tangible. I need evidence to attest to such mind/body coordination in cultural productions of a specific kind. What I detest absolutely is brooding—when my mind wanders into inane spaces and slivers of time, trying to search beyond literal meanings of random articulations. “What did she mean by that?” is my favorite trigger point that has often led me into darkness, sometimes in a sad way and sometimes in a tunnel like way where nothing still makes sense. Mystery created remains a mystery. So being busy, I know, could prevent me from creating a mystery of him.
Holy crap! I am having dinner with him! It hits me again. This is enough to paralyze me now. Just when I was congratulating myself for my busyness, I sabotaged myself for the entire day. Shit! I really am my worst enemy. Now I need to distract myself for the next three hours to save this day that had started so well. Then, Shalini walks in to ask me if I could help her prepare for her workshop in Banda, starting in the next two days.
Bam! My best distraction is here. Thank frigging god! I surprise Shalini with my eagerness to help. She, I knew, expected me to say no after all the work that had come my way after our meetings. She of course didn’t know about the dinner or him and me reminding myself of it almost involuntarily had gotten out a voluntary “yes” to her offer. Any moment earlier and she would be asking someone else for help.
Our planning for Shalini’s workshop took the rest of the day. We had closeted ourselves in the computer room writing out a plan for her that would work the best in the short while she was there. I knew she was impressed with our efficiency. And I knew she was going to ask me what she asked next. It was in her eyes.
“Can I request something else of you? You could always say no. I know you have to craft your lessons and all the other stuff around editing etc. But could you help me with this workshop while there? I could really, really do with your help. I will run the workshop while you could be my expert commentator whenever needed. Please, pretty please?”
Oh, no! She was pleading now and making those round, distressed eyes at me. Me? I am a sucker for need—someone needing me so badly like I was his or her lifeline. So a “yes” popped out my mouth before my mind could analyze the source of my need to be needed. She smiles, gives me a hug and we are done. And by the time we are done, it is actually 5:30 p.m.
As I walk out of the computer room, I bump into Jaya who was coming in to give me his message! He had called about ten minutes ago wanting me to call him right away. My heart sank a little. I was sure he had changed his mind and was calling me to cancel. Damn! That would suck, big time. Just when I was looking forward to it all, trepidation or not. So I call him. And he picks up almost immediately as if he was sitting by the phone willing it to ring.
My “hello” comes out like a breathy whisper.
And his “Ms. Sharma” is coated in sexiness. He confirms, “I was waiting for your call.” “Yes, sorry. I was in a meeting and couldn’t call earlier.”
“No worries. I had called to confirm our dinner date. How is 6:30 at Berccos in Connaught circle?” He doesn’t let me respond. “Do you know where Berccos is in CP?”
I mumble a “yes.” “Good” he finishes.
“I’ll see you there. And Ms. Sharma please don’t be late. I don’t do